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"Private equity is destroying our favorite baseball team, stripping them for parts," Democratic US Senate candidate Platner said in an ad that aired on the New England Sports Network.
Maine Democratic US Senate candidate Graham Platner on Saturday said that a campaign ad that aired during a Boston Red Sox game was "taken down" after it took aim at the team's ownership.
The ad in question features Platner discussing the role that private equity firms play in the US economy, including sports teams.
"Private equity is destroying our favorite baseball team, stripping them for parts," Platner says at the start of the ad. "Private equity is buying up our homes, our sports, and our lives. I will reverse the private equity curse."
Private equity is taking our homes. It's taking our hospitals. It's taking beloved local businesses and stripping them for parts.
And now private equity is running the Red Sox into the ground.
Our new ad ⬇️ pic.twitter.com/w7LapElpdA
— Graham Platner for Senate (@grahamformaine) May 22, 2026
Platner concludes the ad by saying that he approves this message "because I miss Mookie Betts," the star player whom the Red Sox traded to the Los Angeles Dodgers in 2020 in a deal that was widely decried by local fans as a salary dump.
According to Platner, his campaign began airing the ad Friday on the New England Sports Network (NESN), the cable TV station owned partially by Fenway Sports Group, the conglomerate that owns the Red Sox.
However, he said that "midway through the game the ad was taken down" by NESN, after which the Red Sox proceeded to blow a 4-0 lead, losing to the Minnesota Twins by a final score of 8-6.
Platner, an oyster farmer and upstart candidate who has never before held political office, became the Democratic Party's presumptive nominee for the 2026 US Senate race in Maine last month after his top rival, Democratic Maine Gov. Janet Mills, dropped out of the race.
In recent weeks, Platner has pivoted to challenging incumbent Sen. Susan Collins (R-Maine), who has held the seat since 1996 and is now running for her sixth term in office.
From "Field of Dreams" and "Money Ball" to the unmade yet ripe-for-production story of the 1940's right-hander with left-wing politics who defied segregationist rules in the wake of World War II.
"Whoever wants to know the heart and mind of America had better learn baseball," wrote Columbia University scholar Jacques Barzun in 1954. That observation remains true today. Our national pastime has inspired great poems, paintings, novels, music, and plays, but for most Americans, baseball is best represented by the hundreds of films about the game.
Of course, many baseball flicks were duds. Since the silent movie era, for example, there have been at least a dozen films just about Babe Ruth, including two of the worst films of all time—“The Babe Ruth Story” (1948) starring William Bendix and “The Babe” (1992) featuring John Goodman.
As we approach opening day on March 28, fans may want to watch (or re-watch) some of the most outstanding movies about baseball. (There are many great baseball documentaries, but they’re not included here).
Most baseball films are pure entertainment. But baseball is often the setting for notable films that tell a bigger story about America’s social conditions. For example, the 1976 film "Bad News Bears"—about a girl trying to make it on an otherwise all-male Little League team—was not a great movie on its own, but it appeared during the early days of the feminist movement, and a few years after Congress passed Title IX. It inspired many girls to participate in sports.
The films described below address racism, corrupt business practices, sexism, immigration, mental illness, homophobia, and workers rights.
“Bull Durham” (1988). Writer/director Ron Shelton based the film on his experiences as a minor league player for five years. The film depicts the players and fans of the Durham (N.C.) Bulls, a single-A minor league team. It stars Kevin Costner as Crash Davis, a veteran catcher who had a brief (21 day) sojourn in the major leagues. The Bulls recruit him to teach promising rookie pitcher Nuke LaLoosh (Tim Robbins) about both the physical and mental aspects of the game. Each season, groupie Annie Savoy (Susan Sarandon) selects one Bulls player as her companion and lover. She is attracted to both the naïve LaLoosh (described as having a “million dollar arm but a five cent head”) and the seasoned and sophisticated Davis. Baseball fans will identify with Annie’s words: "The only church that truly feeds the soul, day in, day out, is the church of baseball.” Shelton recounted the film’s behind-the-scenes stories in his 2022 memoir, The Church of Baseball: The Making of Bull Durham.
“Moneyball” (2011). Based on the nonfiction book by Michael Lewis, the film explores Oakland Athletics general manager Billy Beane’s (Brad Pitt) effort to assemble a competitive team for the 2002 season with a limited $41 million payrollbudget. With the help of Peter Brand (Jonah Hill), a Yale economics major with no baseball-playing experience, Beane looks for undervalued talent using sophisticated statistical data. The team’s old-school scouts and manager Art Howe (Philip Seymour Hoffman), as well as many fans, scoff at this approach to evaluating players. The film chronicles Beane’s success—including an American League record of 19 consecutive wins and the American League West championship. The A’s lost to the Minnesota Twins in the Division Series, but two years later, the Boston Red Sox won the World Series using those ideas. Beane’s approach—called sabermetrics—is now widely accepted throughout baseball. Many players appreciate the information they get to improve their skills, but they also worry that it is being used as a tool by owners to undermine their bargaining power during contract negotiations
“42” (2013). Among the many fictional portrayals of Jackie Robinson’s heroic crusade to integrate major league baseball, this is the best. Even if you're not a baseball fan, the film will tug at your heart and have you rooting for Robinson to overcome the racist obstacles put in his way. It is an uplifting tale of courage and determination that is hard to resist, even though you know the outcome before the movie begins. But the film strikes out as history, because it ignores the true story of how baseball's apartheid system was dismantled. The film portrays baseball's integration as the tale of two trailblazers—Robinson (Chadwick Boseman), the combative athlete, and Branch Rickey (Harrison Ford), the Dodgers owner and shrewd strategist—battling baseball's, and society's, bigotry. But the truth is that it was a political victory brought about by a social protest movement led by civil rights groups, labor unions, the Black press, radical politicians, and the Communist Party. For example, Andrew Holland plays Pittsburgh Courier reporter Wendell Smith, but he's depicted as Robinson's traveling companion and ghost-writer, ignoring Smith's key role as an agitator and leader of the long crusade to integrate baseball more than a decade before Robinson became a household name. As an activist himself, Robinson would likely have been disappointed by a film that ignored the centrality of the broader struggle that open the door for him—and many Black players who followed in his footsteps—to pursue his dream.
"A League of Their Own" (1992) is responsible for one of filmdom’s most famous one-liners: “There’s no crying in baseball,” spoken by Tom Hanks as the manager of the Rockford Peaches of the All American Girls Professional Baseball League. The highest-grossing baseball film ever ($132 million), it is based on the real-life AAGPBL, which lasted from 1943 to 1954 and employed over 600 athletes, playing a sport they loved while dealing with the sexist stereotypes of the era, like the requirement that they all use make-up and wear skirts as part of their uniforms. The remarkable cast, including Geena Davis, Madonna, Rosie O’Donnell, and Lori Petty, portrays the daily travails of players trying to win ballgames while worrying about their boyfriends, husbands, and brothers in the World War 2 military. One scene makes it clear that the AAGPBL was, like major and minor league baseball at the time, all-white. Left unsaid in the film is that many players were lesbians, but the league owners insisted that they stay in the closet and look like the girl next door. The film helped inspire a resurgence of women’s baseball and softball leagues as well as a growing number of women playing on all-male high school and college baseball teams.
“Sugar” (2008). Of today’s roughly 1,500 major league players, one-quarter were born in Latin American countries, with by far the largest number (11% of all players) from the Dominican Republic. The film follows Dominican pitcher Miguel Santos (nicknamed Sugar, and played by Algenis Perez Soto) struggling to make it to the major leagues and lift himself and his family out of poverty. Playing for a low-level minor league team in a small Iowa town, he faces numerous challenges. He speaks little English, confronts persistent racism, and feels lonely and isolated. He’s pitching well until an injury during a routine play sidelines him to the disabled list. The team eventually releases him. His dream shattered, he moves to New York City where–like many new immigrants–he struggles to make ends meet with dead-end jobs, far from home and from even the small celebrity he enjoyed as a ballplayer.
"Eight Men Out" (1988), based on Eliot Asinof’s nonfiction book, depicts the infamous Black Sox Scandal in which eight members of the Chicago White Sox conspired with gamblers to intentionally lose the 1919 World Series in exchange for money. The team was one of the greatest ever assembled, but in those pre-union days, owner Charles Cominsky refused to pay his players a decent wage, fueling their resentment and their willingness to take a bribe. One of the players, “Shoeless Joe” Jackson, was an unwitting participant. In fact, he performed almost flawlessly during the series (batting .375 with 12 hits, a World Series record), but he was nevertheless, like his teammates, banned from baseball for the rest of his life.
“Field of Dreams” (1989). A year later, Jackson showed up again in this film based on W.P. Kinsella’s novel, Shoeless Joe. Kevin Costner stars as an Iowa farmer who, while walking through his cornfield one evening, hears a voice whispering, "If you build it, he will come"—one of the most famous lines in movie history. At great financial risk, he plows under the cornfield to build a baseball diamond that attracts the ghosts of baseball legends, including Jackson, as well as thousands of visitors eager to watch the legends at play. In his final film role, Burt Lancaster plays Moonlight Graham, one of the long-dead players who show up at Costner’s field. The character is based on Archibald Graham, who played one inning in a major league game in 1905 as a right fielder but never got to bat. He gave up the sport to become a small-town doctor in Minnesota.
"Bingo Long and the Traveling All Stars and Motor Kings" (1976) tells the fictional story of former Negro League players who travel across the Midwest playing local teams during the Great Depression, when major league baseball was still segregated. With an outstanding cast that includes Billy Dee Williams, James Earl Jones and Richard Pryor, the film depicts the harsh realities, as well as the fun and pride, of Black baseball in that era. The film is loosely based on some real-life Negro League players (including Satchel Paige and Josh Gibson) and on the Indianapolis Clowns and other barnstorming Negro League teams. The Black players bristle at the low pay, miserable working conditions and racism that bars them from the major leagues. The James Earl Jones character, Leon Carter, compares playing for the team’s owners to slavery and urges his teammates to organize a player-owned team, a radical idea that was gaining popularity during the upheavals of the Depression. Citing W. E. B. Du Bois, Carter says that “nothing’s going to change until the workers seize the means of production.”
"Bang the Drum Slowly" (1973) stars a young Robert DeNiro as dim-witted major league catcher Bruce Pearson. His teammates ridicule him for his limited intellect and ineptness on the field. His only friend on the team is the brainy star pitcher Henry Wiggen (played by Michael Moriarity), who takes him to the Mayo Clinic, where he’s told he is terminally ill with Hodgkin’s disease. During spring training, the team’s manager decides to release Pearson, but Wiggen intervenes, agreeing to end his demand for more money on the condition that they keep the dying catcher. After Wiggen informs his teammates about Pearson’s illness, their attitude changes from scorn to solicitude, and Pearson’s performance dramatically improves. Like the Mark Harris novel from which it is adapted, the film ends with a great last line: "From here on in, I rag nobody."
“Long Gone” (1987), the least-known film on this list, chronicles the 1957 season of the fictional Tampico Stogies, a Class D minor league team in Florida, led by star player and manager Stud Cantrell, a once-promising player whose World War Two injury kept him from making the majors. Owned by two corrupt and stingy local father-and-son businessmen, the team struggles to lift itself out of last place in the Gulf Coast League. The Stogies’ fortunes change when they sign a slugging catcher named Joe Brown. Because this is the Jim Crow South, and to keep the KKK off his back, Cantrell introduces the African American Brown as a Venezuelan named Jose Luis Brown who doesn’t speak English. In a game-fixing scenario reminiscent of the Black Sox scandal, Cantrell and Brown are both offered lucrative bribes not to show up to a pennant-deciding game as the team competes for the championship. The outcome of that game depends on a conversation about their ethical dilemmas that Cantrell and Brown have at a local bar.
“The Natural” (1984), director Barry Levinson’s adaptation of Bernard Malamud’s 1952 novel of the same name, views baseball as a metaphor for the promises and pitfalls of the American dream. Roy Hobbs (played by Robert Redford) is a super-talented ballplayer destined for big league greatness, but various temptations – corrupt gamblers, bribe offers from a team owner, and sexual enticement – as well as his own ego, get in his way. In 1923, the 19-year old pitching prodigy’s career is thwarted when a woman lures him to her hotel room and shoots him in the stomach, causing severe injuries. Hobbs quickly disappears into obscurity. He reappears 16 years later as a rookie hitter for the New York Knights, seeking redemption despite the skepticism of his manager, teammates, and sportswriters. His slugging inspires a comeback by the lowly Knights. By the last day of the season, they are competing for the pennant. The Knights’ owner, betting against his own team, tries to bribe Hobbs to throw the game. Here, the film dramatically diverges from the novel. In the hands of Malamud, Hobbs strikes out, ending the Knights’ season. In the film, he hits a towering home run, clinching the pennant for his team and rescuing him from his troubled past—an all-American happy ending. The characters in both the novel and the film draw on real baseball figures but don’t refer to them by name, including Babe Ruth, Ted Williams, Bob Feller, Branch Rickey, and, again, Shoeless Joe Jackson. The near-fatal shooting of Hobbs by a mysterious woman is based on a true story. Most analysts believe that Malamud was drawing on an incident in 1949, when Ruth Ann Steinhagen, a 19-year old stenographer who had an obsession with Phillies’ 29-year old All-Star first baseman Eddie Waitkus, lured and shot him in a Chicago hotel room when the Phillies were in the city to play the Cubs. The incident received a great deal of media attention just three years before Malamud’s novel was published. But Malamud may also have been aware of a similar incident in 1932, when showgirl Violet Popovich shot Chicago Cubs shortstop Billy Jurges in another hotel a few blocks from Wrigley Field.
“Fences" (2016) brings August Wilson’s play, about a former Negro League player frustrated by his life, to the screen. It is 1957, and the film's protagonist, Troy Maxson (Denzel Washington), owns a small, run-down house with a tiny backyard in the Hill District, the heart of Pittsburgh's black community, where he lives with his wife Rose (Viola Davis). Maxson is 53 and earns $74 a week ($32,000 a year in today's dollars) as a garbage collector, which he dutifully hands over to Rose every Friday. Though he lives paycheck to paycheck—and can't even afford $200 to buy a television or $234 to fix the roof—Troy has attained a modest level of success as a member of the black working class. He feels great pride in being able to care for his family, but is consumed with rage over racism, which he believes has held him back and trapped him in a life of quiet desperation. In the 1930s and 1940s, he was a star slugger for one of Pittsburgh’s Negro League teams. His biggest regret is that he never got to play in the majors. By the time Jackie Robinson had joined the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1947, he was 43. He believes it was his race, not his age, that locked him out of the money and fame that could have been his. The film is devoid of any baseball action, but the sport is present throughout the film. Maxson keeps a bat and ball in the backyard, and often ruminates about his could-have-been baseball career. His marriage is filled with lust, love, tenderness, banter, and humor, but he takes out his frustrations on long-suffering Rose and his two sons with alcohol-fueled outbursts about his plight in life.
“Fear Strikes Out" (1957) belongs in a category of its own. It is not a great film, but it had a significant and positive impact on American culture. It is the story of Boston Red Sox outfielder Jimmy Piersall’s battle with mental illness, based on his courageous book by the same name, published in 1955. In 1952, the 22-year old Piersall had a nervous breakdown. At the time, mental illness was even less understood than it is today, and carried a huge stigma, especially for public figures like athletes and entertainers. During his first full season with the Red Sox, Piersall's erratic behavior–taking bows after catching a fly ball, getting into disputes with fans and umpires and occasional fights with opposing players—eventually led to him spending six weeks at Westborough State Hospital, where he was diagnosed with manic depression, as bipolar disorder was known at the time, and treated him with electric shock therapy and prescribed the drug lithium. In his book, Piersall provides a frank and fascinating account of his breakdown and how–with the help of doctors, his wife, and his teammates–he was able to recover and resume his pro career. The book describes his rise from the sandlots of Waterbury, Connecticut to the big leagues, but it understandably focuses on his psychological condition and his growing self-awareness. Piersall went on to have an outstanding and colorful 17-year playing career, including twice making the All-Star team. Unfortunately, the film–starring Anthony Perkins as Piersall and Karl Malden as his domineering father who pushes his son beyond all reasonable limits–is awful, although it has some tender moments. Perkins was unsuited for the role. His acting was tortured and he obviously had no athletic ability. But because more people have seen the film than read the book, it had a significant impact in de-stigmatizing mental illness, and thus belongs on this list.
One baseball subject that Hollywood ought to translate into a major film is the struggle for baseball workers’ rights. It could center on All-Star outfielder Curt Flood’s courageous effort, in the 1970s, to challenge the reserve clause (baseball’s version of indentured servitude) by suing Major League Baseball all the way to the Supreme Court. It cost him his career. The film could also remind viewers of battles among professional players to organize and unionize against greedy owners as far back as the late 1800s and fast forward to the recent successful union campaign by severely-underpaid minor league players against the current crop of billionaire team owners.
The story of big league pitcher Sam Nahem’s crusade to integrate military baseball during World War 2 is also ripe for the big screen. Nahem was a right-handed pitcher with left-wing politics. He may have been the only major leaguer during his day who was a member of the Communist Party. He grew up in a Syrian Jewish family, was a baseball and football star at Brooklyn College, and earned a law degree during the off-season when he was in the minor leagues. He played for the Dodgers, Cardinals, and Phillies between 1938 and 1948. Nahem was a key player in a little-known episode in the battle to desegregate baseball. Like many other radicals in the 1930s and 1940s, Nahem fervently believed that baseball should be racially integrated.

During the war, the U.S.. military ran a robust baseball program at home and overseas. After Germany surrendered in May 1945, the military expanded its baseball program while American troops remained in Europe. That year, over 200,000 American soldiers—including some major leaguers—were playing baseball on military teams in France, Germany, Belgium, Austria and Britain. All the teams were racially segregated. While serving in the Army in France, Nahem organized a team to represent his division and defied the the military’s segregation policy by recruiting two Negro League stars–Leon Day and Willard Brown–to join his OISE All-Stars. His team won the U.S. military championship series in Europe in September 1945, playing the final game in Nuremberg, Germany, in the same stadium where Hitler had addressed Nazi Party rallies. Allied bombing had destroyed the city but somehow spared the stadium. The U.S. Army laid out a baseball diamond and renamed the stadium Soldiers Field.
After his playing days were over, Nahem returned to New York, but his political activities caught the attention of the FBI, which put him under surveillance. The Cold War blacklist made it difficult for him to find or keep a job. He moved to the Bay Area, where worked for 25 years in a Chevron chemical plant and became a union leader, even leading a strike in 1969.
Baseball moguls should be focusing on doing everything they can to attract new fans, not punishing older and poorer fans who cannot navigate or afford this army of expensive streaming platforms.
Major League Baseball adopted some significant rules changes this past season, the biggest by far being the introduction of a pitch clock—an electronic countdown limiting the time between pitches to 15 seconds with nobody on or 20 seconds with a runner on.
The changes were aimed at speeding up the game and boosting attendance, and they were a smashing success on both counts: the average game time for the 2023 season was the shortest in 38 years, and attendance rose by the highest percentage in 30 years.
Now let’s turn to a change that’s been introduced gradually, almost sneakily, a change that should itself be smashed. Jimmy Traina writes a column for Sports Illustrated, cleverly titled “Traina Thoughts.” This one is easy to follow:
Major League owners are selfishly committing an egregious error. Throughout the regular season and even into the playoffs, they’re putting dollars ahead of fans by selling exclusive television rights to streaming services. Early in the 2022 season, a Traina Thought called the error “The Terrible Marriage Between Baseball and Streaming.”
It was terrible because pitching great Max Scherzer was set to make his first start for the New York Mets—but the game wouldn’t air in New York, and it wouldn’t be called by the regular Mets’ announcers Gary Cohen, Keith Hernandez and Ron Darling. Scherzer’s debut with the Mets had been picked as the Friday Night Baseball game, and it was showing only on Apple TV+.
Traina spoke up for the masses: “Baseball fans already pay around $100 for a local cable or satellite package. Some baseball fans pay extra for the MLB TV package….When is enough enough?”
For Mets’ Hall of Famer-turned-announcer Darling, his personal had-enough moment came this August. The Mets were playing on the road against the Los Angeles Angels. Darling planned to watch the telecast but found himself with a problem: the TV rights had been sold to the streaming channel Peacock, and Darling wasn’t a subscriber.
There’s a dissing here that deserves more mention and attention.
He wasn’t about to become one, either: “It was a protest. I said I’m not getting another one. I’m not spending another $5.” (Darling in fact has free access to Peacock, but he didn’t know it at the time.)
New York has two major league baseball teams, and the Mets aren’t alone in trivializing the fans who don’t have streaming services, or haven’t mastered the challenges of using them (or, saddest of all, can’t afford them in the first place). The New York Yankees televise most of their games on their own widely-available cable channel, but they too have taken to selling exclusive rights to streaming services. Friday night Yankee games have been appearing only on Amazon Prime, and designated games only on Apple TV+.
There’s a dissing here that deserves more mention and attention.
Today’s major league baseball fans are paying extra-major league prices for their fandom. It’s really Yankee fans, not the owners, who’ll be paying Aaron Judge $40 million in 2024 and $360 million over nine years. It’s Yankee fans who’ll be paying an average ticket price of $188 in 2024, approaching $800 for a family of four. It’s Yankee fans who’ll be paying up to 10 percent more in 2024, despite the Yanks having just racked up their first losing season in 30 years. (To be fair, not all Yankee prices are in the stratosphere: beers and hot dogs went for $6 and $3 this past season, far below the major league-leading $10.50 and $6.25 charged in Fenway Park by the Boston Red Sox.)
These days there’s a new and hidden price that fans have to pay, and it discriminates hugely. Streaming channels get exclusive TV rights for select days and times, shutting out everybody who doesn’t have access to those outlets. Nobody seems to care about the fans who won’t get to see the games; they’re an afterthought (if they’re thought about at all).
What Thomas Paine said long ago has come around again: We’re living in times that try men’s souls. For millions of baseball fans, particularly tech-challenged, older and poorer fans, showing games only on streaming services is something they do not need—anytime, especially at playoff time, and extra-especially in times like these.
Baseball moguls should be focusing on doing everything they can to attract new fans. What they’re doing instead is anti-fan, and dumb besides. Traina has a thought: “[P]ut games on channels where more people can see them,” not on streaming services.
What a refreshing, right-side-up idea: counting fans instead of counting streaming dollars.
"This will truly better the lives of thousands of players and their families," said a former minor league pitcher instrumental to the yearslong organizing effort. "And that is what this fight has always been about."
Major League Baseball and recently unionized minor league players working for MLB team affiliates reached a tentative deal Wednesday on a historic first collective bargaining agreement.
The pending five-year contract is set to more than double the pay of athletes who currently receive poverty wages even though the average MLB team is worth more than $2 billion. It comes just months after the MLB Players Association, the union representing major leaguers, successfully organized highly exploited minor leaguers who are striving to join their ranks into a new collective bargaining unit.
"Nearly a decade of fighting has led to this, and players have achieved what was once thought undoable."
MLB recognized the union's minor league unit in September, paving the way for negotiations that wrapped up on the eve of opening day in the majors and two days before opening day in the minors.
Citing unnamed sources, ESPN's Jeff Passan reported Wednesday night:
After years of disillusionment among future major leaguers about paltry salaries forcing them to work offseason jobs—and coincidentally on the day a judge approved a $185 million settlement the league will pay players who accused it of violating minimum wage laws—the parties agreed on a deal that went out to a vote among the union's rank and file and that will need to be approved by owners, as well, before it is formalized. The agreement could be announced officially as early as Friday, the first day of games in the minor leagues.
The deal was confirmed by numerous other reports citing league and union sources.
Unlike now, minor leaguers are set to be paid "for most of the offseason as well as spring training, including back pay for this season," according to Passan. He detailed the annual pay increases on social media.
In addition to pay hikes, players "emphasized better housing and transportation as a matter of import," Passan reported. "Starting in 2024, those at Triple-A and Double-A will receive their own bedroom, and players with spouses and children will receive special accommodations. In rookie ball, Single-A, and High-A, teams will provide transportation to stadiums, where they'll eat meals provided under rules negotiated by a joint clubhouse nutrition committee."
As More Perfect Union detailed on social media, harsh living conditions on the road between games prompted players to organize for better accommodations and nutrition. Thanks to this effort, MLB began requiring its minor league teams to provide housing to players in 2022. The pending agreement seeks to secure additional improvements.
While name, image, and likeness (NIL) rights are currently controlled by MLB, the pending agreement grants full NIL rights to the union, which can use them to strengthen group licensing deals. In addition, it expands players' medical rights, including covering post-injury health expenses for a longer period of time.
"Among those not included in the deal are players at teams' complexes in the Dominican Republic," Passan reported. "The minor league unit of the MLBPA includes only players on teams' domestic rosters—and players from the Dominican Republic, Venezuela, and other foreign countries will still reap the benefits when stateside."
In a concession to owners, "the deal includes the reduction of the maximum Domestic Reserve List, which governs the number of players a team can roster outside of its Dominican Republic complexes, from 180 to 165 starting in 2024," Passan noted. "The union had previously fought MLB's efforts during the lockout last year to reduce the reserve list, which teams had identified as a priority."
Nathan Kalman-Lamb, an assistant professor of sociology at the University of New Brunswick, wrote on social media that "Minor League Baseball players were perhaps the single most exploited group of men's athletes in North America other than college basketball and football players."
"Now they have a new (good!) collective agreement," he added. "No better evidence of why college athletes need unions."
"For the those who passed a hat around for diaper money for newborns... This is for you."
Garrett Broshuis, a former minor league pitcher who spearheaded early organizing efforts, celebrated on Twitter.
"This is big," Broshuis wrote. "Nearly a decade of fighting has led to this, and players have achieved what was once thought undoable."
"Is the deal perfect? No, but every negotiation ends in compromise," he continued. "This will truly better the lives of thousands of players and their families. And that is what this fight has always been about."
Broshuis concluded: "For the those who passed a hat around for diaper money for newborns. For those who grinded away at two or even three offseason jobs. For those who skipped breakfast or even lunch to pinch pennies. For those who have [given] up the game not for a lack of talent but for a lack of funds. This is for you."
For Major League owners, the real threat of the free-thinking pitching great was how he challenged their economic power and, more broadly, America's unequal economic system and the undue influence of big corporations.
Amidst the current upsurge of social activism among professional athletes, it is worth recalling the enormous contribution of Jim Bouton, one of the most politically outspoken sports figures in American history. Among professional team sports, baseball may be the most conservative and tradition-bound, but throughout its history, rebels and mavericks have emerged to challenge the status quo in baseball and the wider society, none more so than Bouton.
During his playing days in the 1960s, Bouton spoke out against the Vietnam War, South African apartheid, the exploitation of players by greedy owners, and the casual racism of the teams and his fellow players. When his baseball career ended, he continued to use his celebrity as a platform against social injustice. He also worked as a newscaster, a movie and TV actor, and an advocate for restoring old baseball parks. He died in 2019 at age 80.
Bouton’s baseball memoir, Ball Four—published in 1970—may be the most influential sports book ever written. It was the only sports book to make the New York Public Library’s 1996 list of Books of the Century. Time magazine listed Ball Four as one of the 100 greatest non-fiction books of all time.
Bouton wrote Ball Four after his best days as a hard-throwing All-Star pitcher with the New York Yankees were over and he was trying to make a comeback as a knuckleball pitcher. He wanted athletes to speak out for themselves, to refuse to conform, and to defy complacency. Following his own advice, he was an early supporter of anti-Vietnam War presidential candidate Senator Eugene McCarthy in 1968 and he served as a Democratic Party convention delegate for anti-war presidential candidate Senator George McGovern in 1972.
In Ball Four, Bouton accused organized baseball of hypocrisy: portraying a squeaky-clean image while ignoring burning social issues. Bouton condemned baseball’s support for the Vietnam War. He attacked icons such as the Reverend Billy Graham, disputing his claim that communists had organized anti-war protests. While Baseball Commissioner Bowie Kuhn said he couldn’t remember any players being ostracized for anti-war statements, Bouton recounted being repeatedly heckled for his anti-war views by players and fans: “They wanted to know if I was working for Ho Chi Minh.”
On Saturday, September 18, 2010, Bouton came to the Burbank Public Library from his home in New Jersey to discuss Ball Four, which had been published 40 years earlier.
A standing room-only crowd of 175 attended the event. Fortunately, award-winning documentary filmmaker Jon Leonoudakis was there to record Bouton’s remarks. In fact, it was Leonoudakis’ idea to celebrate the book’s 40th anniversary. As a result, the rest of us can imbibe Bouton’s wisdom, insights, and humor about his 10 years in the big leagues and his much longer career as a writer, newscaster, and social critic.
Bouton, who was among few big leaguers who went to college, joined the New York Yankees in 1962. The next year, he had a sensational season, going 21–7 with a 2.53 ERA plus 10 relief appearances. He emerged as one of baseball’s top young pitchers and appeared in that season’s All-Star Game. In 1964 he was 18–13 with a 3.02 ERA, led the league in starts, and won two World Series games.
That’s when Bouton began speaking out on social issues, and his teammates and Yankees management began regarding him as a flake. They found him too intelligent and outspoken for his own good, an outside agitator disturbing the status quo. He typically sat at the back of the team bus, reading! He was considered a free thinker, “which in those days was one step away from being a Communist, to conservative sports minds,” observed sportswriter Ron Kaplan.
The Yankees tolerated this until Bouton suddenly became a marginal performer in 1965. Probably from overuse the previous two years, Bouton began having arm problems and slipped to 4–15 with a 4.82 ERA as the Yankees dropped to sixth place. His ERA bounced back in 1966 to 2.69, but poor run support held his won-loss record to 3–8.
Bouton and his liberal opinions had become expendable. He stayed with the Yankees for a few more uneventful years until 1969, when he was traded to the lowly Seattle Pilots, in their first year as a major league team.
Ball Four is ostensibly a diary of his 1969 season as a pitcher with the Pilots and the Houston Astros, but the most memorable and controversial parts of the book deal with his years with the Yankees. Decades before baseball was rocked by scandal over steroids, Bouton disclosed players’ widespread use of amphetamines (aka “greenies.”). One of the most controversial parts of the book was his revelation that his Yankees teammate Mickey Mantle, whom sportswriters viewed as baseball’s golden boy, was an alcoholic who often blasted towering home runs while nursing a hangover. As Bouton told Fresh Air host Terry Gross during a 1986 radio interview, his portrayal of Mantle “wasn’t really even so much as a put-down of Mickey Mantle as it was a story of what a great athlete he was.”
Leonoudakis had read Ball Four when it first hit the bookstores. He was 12 years old, and, like many baseball fans, it forever changed his view of the sport.
“I learned about the unfair business of the game, the hypocrisy, the pettiness, the struggles, the failures, and that the guys on my baseball cards were real people,” Leonoudakis explained. “No one had ever presented the national pastime this way before, because it was taboo.”
He kept the book with him through high school, college, and adulthood, re-reading it and its various updates. When the book’s four-decade anniversary appeared on the horizon, Leonoudakis pitched the idea to celebrate the book to Terry Cannon, executive director for the Baseball Reliquary, a Pasadena-based group that celebrates baseball’s renegades and iconoclasts.
Bouton, who in 2001 had been inducted into the Reliquary’s Shrine of the Eternals – what he called “the people’s Hall of Fame” – accepted the invitation to participate in the gathering, which would reunite him with Greg Goossen and Tommy Davis (his teammates with the Pilots, a one-year wonder as a team). Ron Shelton, a former minor league player best known for writing and directing the 1988 film, “Bull Durham,” which earned him an Academy Award nomination for Best Original Screenplay, joined the discussion about the often-invisible aspects of pro baseball.
“I smile a lot when I think that people are still talking about the book 40 years later,” Bouton said in his opening remarks at the “Ball Four Turns 40” event. “I caught lightning in a bottle. I was in the right place at the right time.”
Bouton credited his Pilots teammates for providing many of the stories he recounted in the book.
“They were veterans. They’d been around. They were great storytellers. All I had to do was listen, and watch, and write it all down,” which he did, on the backs of envelopes, on hotel note pads, on airplane barf bags, and even on toilet paper.
“Ball Four Turns 40” is Leonoudakis’ love letter to his hero Bouton. It is a fascinating one-hour tour of Bouton’s mind. With remarkable honesty and humor, Bouton describes his up-and-down career, his colorful Pilots teammates (cast-offs at the end of their careers), how he wrote Ball Four from notes scribbled on scraps of paper in dugouts, hotel rooms, and airplanes, and the controversy that surrounded the book.
Funny, honest, and well-written, Ball Four revealed aspects of major league baseball that sportswriters and previous ballplayer memoirs had ignored. Bouton expressed his outrage at owners who exploited players and at players who showed disrespect for the game he loved. He didn’t hold back naming names or describing the lives and antics of ballplayers both on and off the field. It portrayed laudable characters and accomplishments, but also aspects of players’ heavy drinking, crass language and behavior, pep pills and drug use, conservative political views, questionable baseball smarts, anti-intellectualism, womanizing, voyeurism, and extramarital affairs.
Ball Four described boys being boys: human, fun-loving, vulnerable, and sometimes immature. That is, ballplayers were normal young men, with some special skills, but otherwise not necessarily idealistic heroes, as they had been portrayed by most sports reporters. Exposing what had always been under wraps generated a firestorm of protest from players, management, and sportswriters.
By today’s standards, the book is quite tame. But at the time, it was shocking. As Mitchell Nathanson explains in his 2020 biography, Bouton: The Life of a Baseball Original, Bouton’s fellow ballplayers were outraged that he had broken the code by revealing stories from the locker rooms and hotel rooms. Many fans were upset by Bouton’s revelations about the private lives of their favorite players.
Bouton was attacked by sportswriters, who viewed their job as protecting the integrity of the game and the private lives of the players whom they relied on for interviews and stories. In three successive anti-Bouton articles, the New York Daily News influential sports columnist Dick Young portrayed Bouton as a “social leper” and a “commie in baseball stirrups.”
The book’s critics focused on how it assaulted the sanctity of the locker room. But for MLB owners, Bouton’s real threat was challenging their economic power and, more broadly, America’s unequal economic system and the undue influence of big corporations. Bouton loved baseball, but not the baseball establishment which, he believed, took advantage of powerless, unorganized, and under-educated athletes.
In a clubhouse discussion one day when Bouton was still with the Yankees, his teammates claimed a fair minimum salary should range between $7,000 and $12,000. Bouton was scolded when he proposed $25,000, but he pointed out that: “…everyone in this room has a PhD in hitting or pitching. We’re in the top 600 in the world at what we do. In an industry that makes millions of dollars, and we have to sign whatever contract they give us? That’s insane.”
Playing before the ascendancy of the Major League Baseball Players Association (MLBPA), Bouton revealed in Ball Four that major leaguers led lives with little financial or professional security. The owners cared about nothing except their profits. They kept salaries indecently low, and traded or demoted even the most loyal players. At the time, under the reserve clause in every major league contract, ballplayers were little more than indentured servants, with no ability to negotiate with their team owners for better salaries, benefits, or working conditions. Salary negotiations were a farce, and most players couldn’t make a living on their baseball pay, despite generating millions in profits for owners. Except for the superstars, ballplayers led a vagabond, insecure existence.
By disclosing these conditions, Bouton thought fellow ballplayers would appreciate him blowing the whistle. Instead, they complained about him violating their privacy and tarnishing their reputations.
By the late 1960s, however, the MLBPA was beginning its assault on players’ peonage. In 1968, two years after Marvin Miller joined the union as executive director, the MLBPA negotiated the first-ever collective-bargaining agreement in professional sports. By 1975, the union had overturned the reserve clause. Miller claimed that Ball Four “played a significant role in the removal of baseball’s reserve clause,” which led to better working conditions, pensions, health care, and salaries.
“When people complain about the big salaries that players now make, I tell them that for 100 years the owners screwed the players. For the past 30 years, the players have screwed the owners,” Bouton said at the Burbank gathering. “The way I look at it, the players have 70 years to go!”
Not surprisingly, Bouton was excoriated by baseball officials, including Commissioner Bowie Kuhn, who called Ball Four “detrimental to baseball” and demanded a meeting with Bouton. Miller and union attorney Richard Moss joined Bouton at the meeting. The commissioner claimed that Bouton was undermining baseball, but Bouton responded: “You’re wrong… People will be more interested in baseball, not less… People are turned off by the phony goody-goody image.” Kuhn said Bouton owed “it to the game because it gave you what you have,” but Bouton protested: “I always gave baseball everything I had. Besides, baseball didn’t give me anything. I earned it.”
Kuhn ordered Bouton to release a statement saying he falsified or exaggerated his stories, but Bouton refused. When Kuhn told him to regard the meeting as a warning, Miller shot back: “A warning against what…against writing about baseball?… You can’t subject someone to future penalties on such vague criteria.” Kuhn told Bouton that he was going to issue a statement threatening players with punishment for any further writing like Ball Four. He told Bouton that he should remain silent. Again, Bouton refused.
As Bouton explained at the 2010 symposium, the controversy helped turn the book into a bestseller.
“The publisher originally only printed 5,000 copies,” Bouton said. “But when Kuhn attacked the book, lots of baseball fans were curious about what he didn’t want them to read. Sales really took off.” Since then, over 5.5 million copies of Ball Four have been sold.
The book’s success, Bouton told the crowd at the 2010 event, was “all about perspective.” He couldn’t have written the book, he explained, if was still an All-Star pitcher with the Yankees. But when he played with the ill-fated Pilots – a team of cast-offs from other big-league teams – he joined the ranks of the marginalized, which shaped his standpoint.
“If a president writes a book about life at the White House, and a doorman writes a book on the same subject, read the doorman’s book,” Bouton said.
Bouton’s book helped change sports writing. While the old-timers condemned Bouton, a new wave of writers abandoned the deification of ballplayers and instead looked for unconventional angles. George Foster of the Boston Globe called the book a “revolutionary manifesto.” New York Times writer David Halberstam observed that Bouton “has written… a book deep in the American vein, so deep in fact that it is by no means a sports book….. [A] comparable insider’s book about, say, the Congress of the United States, the Ford Motor Company, or the Joint Chiefs of Staff would be equally welcome.” According to Stephen Jay Gould, a Harvard paleontologist and baseball writer, Ball Four inaugurated a “post-modern Boutonian revolution,” revealing that “heroes were not always what they were thought to be, questioning the masculine ideal in the professional game, and encouraging the reader to look beyond the media’s interpretations.”
As MLB historian John Thorn later observed, Ball Four was “a political work, and a milestone in the generational divide that characterized the 1960s. It is the product of a widespread rebellion against both authority and received wisdom.”
In “Ball Four Turns 40,” Leonoudakis has fully captured Bouton’s spirit. The film is filled with 1970s images and music. The filmmaker appears as a newscaster explaining the historical context of Bouton’s life and times.
The film is Leonoudakis’ love letter to Bouton, who reciprocated in Ball Four’s final printing (in 2014) where he thanked Leonoudakis and the Baseball Reliquary for organizing the event.
Leonoudakis is more than a fan. He’s a fanatic. Eight years ago he started a Facebook page called “Ball Four Freaks.” Membership is like an exclusive cult. You have to pass a baseball test to join.
“Ball Four Turns 40” is just the latest of Leonoudakis’ baseball documentaries. He’s produced “Not Exactly Cooperstown” (about the Baseball Reliquary), “The Day the World Series Stopped” (about the 1986 Bay Area earthquake that interrupted the fall classic between the San Francisco Giants and Oakland A’s), and “Hano! A Century in the Bleachers” (about 90-year old sportswriter Arnold Hano, author of the classic “A Day in the Bleachers”).
Curious baseball fans can watch “Ball Four Turns 40” by subscribing (for $8) to Leonoudakis’ Patreon page and stream the film by joining the "Fan Zone” tier (there’s instructions pinned to the top of the home page for those wishing to see “Ball Four Turns 40”). This also gives them access to another 20 of his films as well as his monthly interviews with experts like baseball writers Marty Appel and Jean Hastings Ardell, Negro Leagues historian Phil Dixon, and pioneering female umpire Perry Barber.
On Sunday in DC, I attended the seventeenth ballpark protest of the Arizona Diamondbacks during the 2011 baseball season. As in the other actions-in cities from Houston to San Francisco to Milwaukee-people chanted a loud and clear message to Major League Baseball commissioner Bud Selig: move the 2011 All-Star Game out of Arizona and make the state pay a price for enacting legislation that sacrifices immigrant families at the altar of election-year politics. But this demonstration was also deeply different from the sixteen others. It was a day of rain, risk-takers, racists and rancor. And it couldn't have been more terrific.
Nationals Security Guards Falls Chasing After Protestershttps://www.casualhoya.com/
First, the protest was publicly threatened by a pugnacious anti-immigrant organization called Help Save Maryland. This past week, I received a series of e-mails from people claiming to be connected to the group in which they threatened to "swamp" the Move the Game demonstration and drive immigrant rights supporters from the park. They also taunted that my writing on the subject had led to them being "overwhelmed with phone calls and volunteers." For the record, we had 100 people march during the two-hour protest. They had seven. The group was so irrelevant that they went unmentioned-from ESPN to politico.com - in the flurry of subsequent media coverage.
Second, the demonstration outside was combined with actions inside the park where four daring activists stormed the field with one out in the fifth inning, unfurling a banner calling for Selig to move the game. In what could morph into a youtube sensation, an overzealous security guard attempting to accost them did a less-than-graceful belly flop across the outfield. It might have been the most exciting moment at a Nats game this season. Rosa Lozano, who spent the evening in custody for taking the movement to the outfield grass, said to me after her release, "I did it because when history reflects this egregious time of civil and human rights violations I want to be able to have pride in saying that I didn't stand idly by and allow human beings to be treated like animals because of their immigration status." Also, as the four were being arrested, two separate banners with similar messages were draped over the outfield walls. These banner bandits daring to display a message that didn't say "Drink Budweiser" or "Buy Season Tickets" were banned from the ballpark for a year
One of them, Brian Ward, said to me afterward, "I find it funny how I am being banned from a stadium that I helped pay for with my tax dollars. I say if that is what it takes to get the All-Star Game moved, let's all do actions like we saw today and show that we are willing to do whatever it takes to move this game and overturn SB 1070."
Another banner bandit, Navid Nasr, described to me a scene in the crowd where "two fans to our left immediately became extremely hostile and attempted to rip the banner away from us. Then something kind of inspiring happened, two or three other fans leapt to our defense, physically put themselves between us and the belligerents and berated them, calling them assholes and telling them to leave us alone and that we weren't harming anyone and that we have the right to free speech."
Free speech at a publicly funded billion-dollar park! What a concept! That description of political polarization mirrored what picketers saw outside the park. Some fans were very supportive, even joining in with the chants and doing a couple of turns marching around in a circle, in full Nationals gear. Others yelled, and heckled with all the zeal of Sarah Palin at a book-burning. Two demanded to see the papers of a 17-year-old picketer, Nate Taitano, who happened by sheer and utter coincidence, to have brown skin. After the demonstration, the young man said to a gathered crowd, "I was born and raised right here in DC. I should be asking them where the hell they're from."
But most critically, thousands of flyers, detailing how people could contact Bud Selig and insist that he move the game, were passed out to open fans. By day's end, protesters were soaked, hoarse and happy. As Gary Nelson, a firefighter from Baltimore who drove an hour to be at the demonstration, said, "Evil flourishes when good people do nothing. Today we did some good."